


Isolated Mercy

by PsychedelicBumblebee



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Admittedly a lil too much maybe, And rully sad and guilty, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anyway sorry please enjoy, Argo II (Percy Jackson), Asphyxiation, Blood, Breaking down a character, Character Study, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crying, Delirium, F/M, Feelings of Loneliness, Fever, Fever Dreams, Feverish Octavian (Percy Jackson), Fix-It, Flirting, I'm gonna put a warning before and after though, Injury, Like rully feverish, M/M, Manhandling, Nightmares, Not really though, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries, Sick Octavian (Percy Jackson), Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags Are Fun, Teasing, Whump, admittedly the only slow burn I'll ever do, arguments on moral standings, like serious whump, many characters here need a hug tbh, mishandling of injuries, mostly guilt, suicide watch (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychedelicBumblebee/pseuds/PsychedelicBumblebee
Summary: What if. . . Octavian hadn't died? What if he was forced to face the aftermath of the war, and the anger of the whole camp, as well as come to terms with his own past? What would happen, do you think?
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47





	1. Falling Into the Crevices

**Author's Note:**

> Before I start, I just want to clarify that: yes, I am a Octavian sympathizer, and no- I have no shame.
> 
> I did a frick-ton of research on this, as well as taking from some of my personal experiences in some of the particular situations in which you'll encounter throughout this story. I put a year's-worth of effort into this, and re-read books, as well as a lot of fandom-wikis in effort to get this thing off the ground.
> 
> Now, I'm not trying to gather sympathy or anything (gods know I'm not the only author who has gone to such lengths), I'm simply attempting to persuade you to keep an open mind and to please review, even if it's harsh. I always love a good argument.

Octavian stumbled again, hot, thick blood seeping lazily through his fingers. His legs shook fiercely, breaths forcing themselves out in quick, desperate wheezes. Patches of his skin stung viciously like a burning brand, residing in swells of scarlet across the expanse of his flesh.

His lower back was grievously wounded where his hand was attempting to clutch it, and a ringing of white noise played innately in the back of his deteriorating mind. His vision was slowly blackening around the edges, coming rapidly in and out of focus.

He was, in every respect, exhausted.

He made to take another step, his muscles flaming like magma in the midst of an eruption. His knees finally gave out, hitting the ground hard, and he fought fervently to keep the rest of his body upright.

He had to get up, had to lose Michael Kahale, for surely that traitorous boy would make no qualms of injuring him again, just to make sure he died.

Octavian had been sucker-punched, if you will, by the attack: Michael had been standing between the three demigods, had promised to help him, to keep this last loyalty the augur had.

Then Octavian had turned his back for an _instant_ , and suddenly blazing pain was racing across his back. A cry had been wrenched from his throat, and it was all he could do to stay upright as his head whipped around to look wide-eyed at Michael. The boy had- in an instant of insanity and ire, perhaps- slashed Octavian's backside, leaving a deep, bloody crevice.

Kahale hadn't shown any sign, any clue that he had been planning to betray Octavian, and so quickly, too; yet there Octavian was, struggling just to make it to the few feet left to the famous pine tree on Half-Blood Hill.

Realization struck him then with the force of a cyclops' club: Kahale had taken of Octavian's own disadvantage; he remembered having to rip his toga from the onager's ropes and tear off his jewelry in order to flee Michael's almost murderous gaze and keep his life. Michael, the di Angelo boy, the Solace boy, everyone: they all _wanted_ Octavian dead.

They were going to just stand there and let Octavian inadvertently _kill_ himself.

Tears sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them away defiantly, resolve settling in his chest. _Fine,_ he thought with what he told himself was anger, _if they want me dead so badly, so be it. I'll just die once I reach the border. There's nothing left here, anyway._

Apparently, his body didn't get the memo his mind had. The moment he tried to get back to his feet, every muscle burned painfully; another cry was forced from his throat as he fell, effectively getting a mouthful of dirt.

He groaned in pain and frustration, sprawled limply on the ground, then stilled a moment to catch his breath, the white noise and dark spots in his vison growing ever stronger. His head was beginning to feel steadily heavier, as if it were filling with sand.

Vaguely, through the muddled sea of his mind, he could make out a quick clopping of hooves, heading directly towards him. Then hands were gripping his shoulders and a faintly familiar voice was trying to break through to him.

It came through at that moment, and his breath caught at the abrupt clarity of his senses, "Can you hear me, child? You must try and stand, and I can carry you the remainder of the way." From the kind, worn nature of the voice, Octavian could tell it was Chiron who was speaking to him.

Clearly the benevolent centaur did not realize who he was talking to, for surely he would not have even approached him if he did. He lifted his head with much effort, to try and persuade the centaur to leave, but he could hardly see the teacher, for his vision was nearly obscured now, and everything kept fading in and out of focus.

The centaur did not scoff, however, or leave, or throw the boy back into the dust. He simply gazed back at Octavian with eyes full of worry and concern, "Octavian, child, you must get your feet beneath you. Come now."

Octavian shook his head, puzzled by the centaur's plea. He lashed out weakly, a desperate attempt to hold up the front he had built up over the few years of his life, "Away from me, vile monster! I do _not_ need your help. I can take care of myself." As if Chiron was either vile or a monster. As if he was in any condition to remedy himself.

Still Chiron did not leave, instead hooking his hands under Octavian's arms and lifting him to set him on his feet. Octavian could only sag there like a puppet with his strings cut, "Absolutely not. Where have you been injured?"

For some reason, Octavian found himself responding, "Lower back. I. . . I've been slashed." His voice was hollow, as if he was only now processing all that had happened.

Chiron inspected the wound, then nodded grimly. "We must bring you to the Big House for medical attention, quickly." Then he was being lifted, and held tightly yet carefully aloft by the old centaur as they made their way to the Big House.

"Who wounded you, Octavian?"

"Michael. . . Michael Kahale," he murmured, eyes slipping closed gratefully, desperately; gradually, exhaustedly. "Why?" he muttered, even as the topic slipped from his fingers like water.

"I will speak with him later," Chiron explained, though it more to himself than to Octavian. His voice rose to a shout, "Clarisse, retrieve Michael Kahale, whatever it takes, but do not kill him. Bring him to the Big House as soon as possible."

Octavian heard a distant shout of compliance, and again wondered vaguely why Chiron cared who his murderer had been.

Murderer?

He hoped it wasn't too early for that.

He didn't know when he passed out, or when he arrived at the Big House; he remembered, vaguely, waking for a short time as his wounds were cleaned and mended.

Then too often darkness would force its iron grip around him, snippets of conversations whirling above him as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

\--

"Why is he here?"

"He is a camper in need of medical attention, Percy-"

"He tried to _destroy_ the camp, not to mention the _world_! And he- he killed Leo. He's an enemy and a traitor, Chiron."

" _Gaea_ was the one who tried to do both, Jason. And Leo. . . he- he did what he did of his own accord, to save us all, as I am sure you are well aware. And as for _traitor_ , Chris Rodriguez was as well, yet he is a respected camp member now."

"This is different!"

"How?" Silence. "Regardless of parentage or taken sides, he a is a demigod, and only eighteen. Scarcely a good age to die, I should think."

\--

"Will, you shouldn't be helping him."

"Like you should talk; _you_ should be in _bed_. Doctor's orders."

" _Will Solace-_ "

"Nico. . . he _is_ related to me."

"Very distantly."

"Yeah, but. . . I just feel like this is the right thing to do."

". . . Alright, I trust your judgement. But you both better hurry, if you plan to save him. I can feel his life force slipping."

XXX

He woke calmly, as if he had timed it, staring blankly for a few moments at the fresh whiteness surrounding him.

He thought, for a fleeting, joyous moment, that he was dead.

Then he lifted his eyes and the saw the structure of the Big House infirmary looming above him. The room seemed softly sunny, the air surprisingly still and quiet, as if he was in some strange, clarified dream.

He thought to move, but knew, somehow, that doing so would yank him out of this blissful, hazy death in which he found himself.

But then a door creaked open somewhere to his right, and it was no longer his choice to make. He was suddenly aware that he was lying on his stomach, arms laid carefully at his sides. A slight burning sensation was blanketing his entire body, as well as random, sharp pains.

He groaned in disappointment and pain, already longing for the bliss to return.

The sound of old wheels on wood sounded from the door until rounding the bed, and then Chiron was peering at him with a sad smile. He grabbed a hand towel from the end table, soaking it in water, "I am heartened to see you awake at last, Octavian." A long pause. "You really do look so much like Luke did," the old centaur murmured, laying the towel on the back of the Octavian's neck.

He let out a shaky sigh, as the coolness alleviated some of the pain. Chiron's smile grew, a little more hopeful this time, "How do you feel?"

". . . Why do you care?" He was surprised- not only by the physical properties of his voice- but also by the degree of his tone. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been crying for hours, and his tone empty and hollow, as if someone had used a knife to carve all the emotion out of it.

Chiron's gaze filled with a fatherly authority, "You are a demigod, and, whether Roman or Greek, I am- by divine order- responsible for your care as your teacher, my boy."

"But _why_ do you care?" Octavian repeated, voice cracking. He hated himself for being so suddenly emotional, but the pain and exhaustion from his wounds and the war had shaken him, stretching his emotions taut like bowstring. He tried desperately to blink away an onslaught of tears.

The old centaur looked puzzled for moment, before understanding dawned on him, "I care because you are an eighteen year-old boy who appears to me very lonely. It is obvious that you need someone to be friend, a _person_ to you. I shall be that person, since no one else seems willing to help you."

"Why?" It was meant to be a demand, it really was. Instead it came out a slipping plea, a shattering desire for answers, explanations. He wanted again to die, to go back to sleep; at least in sleep he wouldn't hear everyone's scorn. "I am merely a descendant of Apollo. I am nothing. My great-grandparents were both praised demigods, passing the glory down from generation to generation until it went too far to stand. _I_ am too far. I stood on the sidelines, shunned, while the glory and legends of my ancestors collapsed. I am merely an anemic loser, just as that Solace boy said."

"Everybody is alive for a reason, child. It make time to find what that reason is, but you _will_ find it. And I can assure you: if to no one else, you are important to me."

Octavian shook his head furiously, hiding his face in the pillow when tears began streaming down his cheeks, "No, no I'm not. I'm not- don't tell me that, you don't mean it, you don't-" His heart felt like it was beating sluggishly, as if Chronos had slowed time again and created a bubble just for him.

Chiron reached out, placing a gentle hand on the small of Octavian's back. Immediately he stiffened, hardly daring to breathe.

The centaur sighed, "We shall always have bad days, or people, who may seek to hurt us in some way. But that is why we have the good days, and the good people: to help us through it all. The bad does not cancel out the good, but simply helps us to better appreciate the good."

Octavian was silent a moment, picking at the loose threads littering his pillow until he had regained enough of his composure.

He peered almost shyly at the kindly centaur, shining trails still prominent on his pale cheeks. "Can I get up?" the question was quiet, uncertain. He didn't know himself if he wanted to move out of this space. What if it broke this alliance, this streak of kindness being shown to him?

Chiron hesitated as well, for good reason. "Yes. But I must insist caution, child."

Octavian nodded, and Chiron pulled back the blanket, slowly helping him to sit up. He groaned as he rose, letting his legs hang over the side of the cot as he inspected himself.

He hissed as his fingers grazed carefully bandaged burns, examining intricate patterns which matched the bandages covering his lower back and stomach, just above his waist. He was wearing only pajama pants.

He swiped at his eyes, rubbing the bandages absently and taking a shaky breath in an effort to still his nerves. "Thank you," he said softly.

Chiron smiled kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners, "Now, I would assume you're hungry? Perhaps we can join the others for lunch-" His voice died off when caught the expression on the augur's face.

Sad would be an understatement.

His very aura was empty and downcast, his shoulders drawn as if he was attempting to make himself smaller, and his mouth pressed into an empty line. He looked, for lack of a stronger word, devastated.

Chiron's eyes softened, well-worn lines of concern etched deep into his features, "Octavian?"

The augur swallowed, "Nobody wants to see me; you all hate me."

Chiron shook his head firmly, "Even if you are right, I should like you to join us anyway, so you might get some sun on your skin and some food in your body. You have been in and out of awareness the past two days or so, and any improvement, however small, would lift both our spirits."

Reluctantly, Octavian nodded. Then, in a tone almost bordering on amusement: "Could. . . I have a shirt, please?"


	2. Digging Trenches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly really excited about this, because- while the first chapter was essentially a filler- this chapter is the headway to everything I want to explore with this character.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on this too, as well as any other chapters I put up for this story. I want to know what you guys think, because, oftentimes, the reader's opinion is much more compelling and important than the writer's.

Octavian limped out of the Big House, leaning heavily on a crutch and tugging at his shirt self-consciously. It was rather oversized for his gaunt frame, falling past his hips and hovering over his sides, constantly shifting as if it was actively avoiding contact.

He was grateful for the bagginess, though, as it would be sure not to chafe at his injuries, and made him feel less prominent. Like he could disappear at any moment if he wished to. It made him feel. . . safer, somehow. Because he'd always been written off, but now he couldn't look up without a camper shooting him a glare. He. . . didn't enjoy it.

He thought he would relish the attention, but it only put him at an imbalance of sorts: he knew they had good cause to be angry with him, but he sincerely wished their rage wasn't so strong. He would never admit it, but it actually scared him. . . just a little bit.

So he kept his head down and his shoulders drawn, trying to compact himself as much as possible as he followed Chiron, now in full centaur form, to the dining hall. The mess hall itself was buzzing with activity, campers restless as they waited to eat, Sometimes it would get significantly quieter, as minds wandered back to Leo's death, not to mention everything else that had happened not several days prior.

The noise fell quickly when Chiron trotted to the front, Octavian close behind. He didn't look up, didn't speak or smile or glare. He simply took his seat beside Chiron and stared at his hands where they were folded in his lap until he felt dizzy.

Chiron turned to him, voice full of concern, "I must insist you eat, my boy; you need the strength."

Octavian shook his head numbly, "I'm sorry, I'm not hungry."

A doubting silence. "Is there anything in particular bothering you?"

He hesitated, "I just. . . I don't- I feel. . . off, like something isn't where it's supposed to be." He sighed, voice almost a whisper now, "I'm sorry." His breath grew a little quicker, suddenly, and his vision darkened, just for an instant. He took a sip of his orange juice with a shaky hand, hoping it might help to reorient him.

Chiron said something, but it sounded muffled, like he was talking through a thousand layers of cotton.

Then Octavian was falling, and he couldn't stop, couldn't drag himself back to the shouting and the sun and the clinking of dishes and cups.

Something caught him, but it was hard and ruthless and freezing. His head exploded in pain, somehow extending into a strong tickle in his throat. He gasped for air, coughing and coughing and _coughing_ until his lungs burned and his eyes stung fiercely with tears.

He hurt everywhere: his eyes, his throat, his wrists, his head, his back, his _heart_. Something lifted him, and suddenly he was airborne, shouting and silence and light and dark surrounding him.

He take it anymore, he decided.

There was too much pain, too much noise, too much light, and he just wanted it all to stop-

Everything was dark.

Dark, and silent.

Dark, and silent, and _alone_.

_Alone._

_Alone again._

Tears streamed silently down his pale cheeks, and he fell deeper into oblivion.

XXX

He woke again, sweating profusely and shivering fiercely.

His head was pounding ruthlessly, his skin tingling with fever. He groaned, eyes screwing up and small coughs pushing up through his lips. Something cold and wet was being pressed to his forehead by a careful hand,

He peeled his eyes open.

Beside him hovered the shadowy, blurry figure of Nico di Angelo. The boy looked back at him, his face revealing nothing but boredom and a trace of curiosity. They stared at each other for a moment before Nico called quietly: "Will. Short, bland, and rude is awake. He doesn't look too good; his face is turning a little green."

Will walked over to them quickly, elbowing Nico in the ribs, "Be nice, for the gods' sake, di Angelo." He looked apologetically at Octavian, "Sorry for my boyfriend. He can be a bit grumpy sometimes."

Nico glared at the blonde, though there was hardly any ire to it, "Solace-"

Will ignored him, "How are you feeling, Octavian?"

He struggled to form words around the numbness in his lips, "Wha- what happ'ned?"

Will nodded, "I figured that'd be the first thing you'd ask. You passed out in the middle of lunch with a fever. Worried Chiron half to death and made quite a clamour. You're lucky you didn't get a concussion with how hard you hit your head when you fell."

Octavian must have looked confused, because Will elaborated: "We'd cleaned your wounds before, but- as it turns out- not well enough. Your injuries got infected, and pretty nastily, too."

Octavian's stomach growled. Loudly.

Nico smirked, though not unkindly, "Hungry?"

Despite what his body claimed, the thought of food alone made him dizzy with nausea. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

He shook his head, forcing himself to swallow the bitter taste again. "I feel sick," he managed, before promptly heaving over the side of the bed.

Nico barely sidestepped, while barely Will managed to nudge a trashcan in the right direction.

Octavian coughed as Will rubbed circles into the older boy's back. He coughed forever, his eyes watering and throat burning when the fit eased. He leant on Will, too exhausted to move. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes as he rasped out an apology, and then he was out like a light.

Will muttered a Greek curse, carefully turning the augur onto his side, and tried to shake him awake.

When Octavian groaned, eyes fluttering but not opening, Will shook him harder. Octavian groaned again, eyes slowly cracking open. He coughed weakly, trying with herculean effort to focus on the young doctor. His eyes were glassy and hazy, his body trembling violently.

Will held water to the augur's lips, trying to coax it into him. He hesitated, but carefully sipped at it until Will was satisfied. Octavian looked uneasy again, and for a moment Will feared he might be sick again. But then the expression vanished, and he was asleep once more.

Will ran a hand through his hair, sighing in relief. Nico tilted his head like a small puppy, "Why haven't you just fed him ambrosia and nectar?"

"I don't know if it works when it's just a fever," Will explained. "And even if it does, I don't know if it'd help him or kill him, since I'm not sure how. . ." he gestured uselessly with his hands, as if trying to pluck the word from the air, " _demigod_ he is. For all I know, he's completely human, considering how far down he potentially is in his generational line."

A knock sounded at the door, and Clarisse called from the other side, "Will, Nico, head counselor's meeting. Chiron insisted you guys join us, and soon."

Nico waited until her footsteps receded from earshot, then turned to Will.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll tell Chiron you needed to remain with your patient,"

Will nodded, smiling at his boyfriend gratefully, and then Nico was gone.

XXX

"Where's Solace?"

"I told you Clarisse: he's with Octavian. He can't leave a patient in need. It's against his morale and his natural code as a healer."

The daughter of Ares huffed, glaring at the son of Hades. She glanced at Chiron, who didn't seem at all fazed by Will's absence, so she conceded to move on, "Okay: what's our order of business?"

"We're deciding on a course of action concerning Michael Kahale," Nico explained, letting his gaze sweep the gathering of head counselors. He caught a brief smirk that lit up Clarisse's face, as if she were remembering how fun it was capture the son of Venus.

"What did he do?" asked Travis Stoll, head of the Hermes cabin.

"He nearly took the life of a young boy," Chiron replied, almost angrily.

"Where is he being held right now?" Clarisse asked gruffly, never one to beat around the bush.

"Here in the Big House, in the cellar," Nico reassured her. She winced, and he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing it up, even though she'd asked him.

The cellar was where they had kept her boyfriend, Chris, after finding him nearly gone to insanity from the Labyrinth. Not exactly sunny memories, he could imagine.

But Clarisse recovered quickly, "So what's the punishment for. . . what is it? Attempted manslaughter, I guess?"

Reyna perked up, "He's Roman; we'll decide his punishment."

"But the Romans and the Greeks are allies now, so we should both get a say," Travis pointed out. Clarisse grunted in agreement.

Reyna regarded the son of Hermes, "While that's true, Michael was exiled _before_ the war, so the responsibility ultimately falls to Camp Jupiter."

Piper looked simultaneously scared and relieved. "So what's the punishment for attempted manslaughter?" she repeated.

Reyna's eyes glinted dangerously, "Death." When everyone stared at her with wide eyes, she grinned good-naturedly. "He'll be put before our court and have a fair trial, which means Nico will have to join us when we leave for camp, so he can testify, since he's the only available witness. When he's found guilty, he'll be put in exile again."

Nico nodded in agreement, Chiron conceding, "Very well. I suggest departing within the week, but be sure to restrain him. And please remember you are welcome to visit us anytime, for any for any reason."

The praetor nodded, smiling, "Thank you, Chiron. And don't worry, I'll make sure he gets what he deserves."

Chiron's shoulder's sagged slightly in relief, an invisible burden lifting from his shoulders, "With that issue resolved, is there any other matter requiring immediate attention which we haven't-"

An unsettling tingle shot up Nico's spine.

 _Someone_ was dead, or otherwise dying. The closer the proximity, the stronger and more sickening the feeling was, but it was always there.

His eyes widened when he realized who it was, and he stood abruptly to inform Chiron.

Will beat him to it.

The door slammed in harmony with the scraping of chair legs as the son of Apollo burst in, eyes wild and frightened. He locked eyes with Chiron, "It's Octavian. He's steaming."

XXX

"No!" Octavian shouted hoarsely, struggling against Nico's wavering grip.

Will had told them that he needed help lowering Octavian's fever; helping set up an IV for a patient was one thing. But helping set up an IV for a patient while said patient was in the throes of delirium? Entirely different, not mention extremely difficult.

Octavian writhed on the bed with all his remaining strength, gripping Chiron's arms like lifelines while the centaur tried to soothe him and Nico tried still him. Will stood beside his boyfriend, fingering a syringe filled with sedative, waiting anxiously for an opportunity to use it.

The augur sobbed, fever-bright eyes wide and desperate as he pleaded with Chiron, "Don't leave me! Please! Nobody here wants me!" Tears streamed down his face in torrents, leaving glistening trails on his sunken cheeks.

Chiron bent down and kissed Octavian's burning forehead, as a father might, "I am staying, my boy. Be at peace."

Octavian stared at Chiron with the intensity of a frightened child before launching himself at the teacher, gripping the centaur's waist as tightly as he could manage. Chiron startled but returned the embrace after a moment, careful of the young boy's wounds.

Octavian sobbed quietly for some time, body shuddering and breath gasping until his grip went slowly lax, and he passed out once more.

Will sighed heavily in relief, looking at the syringe resentfully, "Thank the gods, I _really_ didn't want to use this."

Nico snorted as Chiron lowered Octavian gently, wiping away the lingering tears, "I've always hated needles."

"I've always hated _using_ them. It's just. . . " he shuddered, peering worriedly at the augur, who's skin was still eerily exerting steam. "His fever is still dangerously high."

Chiron sighed, obviously a little shaken from the whole ordeal, "Indeed."

Without another word, Will and Nico set up the IV drip as Chiron settled into his wheelchair.

Will frowned, "Chiron, are you sure?"

The centaur smiled, "I'll be more than happy to keep watch over Octavian as long as need be. However, if it will put you more at ease, we can make a schedule so you can keep an eye on him as well."

"Yeah, okay, we'll do that," Will nodded reluctantly, grinning when Nico grasped him by the hand, tugging him toward the door. "Thanks, Chiron. "

Chiron's smile grew, "You are very welcome, my boy. Get some rest, _both_ of you." He looked pointedly at Nico, who rolled his eyes but let a small smile stretch his lips all the same.

He nodded silently, and they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I'm a little terrified, because I have been waiting for so, so long to get this story out there, and I'm afraid it won't get any attention whatsoever, and then I will have ended up wasting a lot of time and effort.
> 
> A writer's nightmare, huh?


	3. Building Ladders

"Chi. . ."

It was hardly more than a breath, but it was more than enough to draw Chiron's gaze from his book to look uncertainly at the sleeping boy beside him.

Except he wasn't asleep.

He was gazing back at the kindly centaur, glassy eyes barely open as tears tracked slowly down his cheeks. Chiron immediately set the book aside, gently wiping away the stray tears, "Octavian, I am most relieved to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Octavian took several moments to answer, visibly struggling just to speak, "'urts. . ."

Chiron's heart ached in sympathy- as it always did when he saw the pain demigods were forced to endure. "Go back to sleep, my boy. Sleep will help the pain."

"C'n't. . .h'rts. . ." Octavian breathed, grimacing as if all the energy were being sucked out of him.

Chiron hesitated a moment before reaching over, adding a bag of morphine to the IV stand. Octavian visibly relaxed and murmured his thanks.

Then he was sleeping again, peaceful. Chiron smiled softly, going back to his book.

XXX

He opened his eyes and rose slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Walking to the door of the med-wing, he looked around: nobody there.

 _Strange, strange_ , a little bell in the back of his mind rang, _danger!_ But for some reason, he thought nothing of it.

A gentle breeze brushed his face as he stepped outside, and he closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath. The air was sweet, but he caught a bitter scent hidden in midst of it.

He scanned the camp spread out before him: the pavilion, the plethora of cabins, the canoe lake, the arena, the armoury, the strawberry fields; Thalia's pine tree, as strong and protective as the lieutenant herself, stood proudly on the crest of Half-Blood Hill. All seemed peaceful, and a serene feeling was hovering over him, wanting to settle deep into his stomach.

But something was terribly wrong, something Octavian couldn't for the life of him put his finger on. Then it hit him.

The camp was empty.

As far as Octavian had managed to gather, even during the school year (whatever that was) when most everyone had left to stay elsewhere, the camp was never so desolate.

The peaceful silence suddenly become eerie, dread and unease growing like a cancer in the pit of Octavian's stomach. It was all he could do to stop himself vomiting, the sensation was so strong. He legs began to tremble, threatening to buckle, and he staggered sideways, hugging a nearby column to support steady himself.

What had happened? Where had everyone gone?

_It was all you, my dear augur._

The voice was somehow soft and eerie at the same time, like an enemy posing as a friend.

Octavian's eyes widened, and his head snapped up.

The intruder in question stood too close for comfort, her shapeless body constantly shifting and sliding. Dirt and mud and sand dropped from her like tiny pebbles plummeting down a waterfall. Her normally sleeping face seemed far too awake, green and brown and grey and yellow and orange eyes staring directly at Octavian.

Behind her, the ground was littered with limp, lifeless bodies. The bodies of campers.

Thalia Grace. Percy Jackson. Michael Kahale. Dakota. Hazel Levesque. Will Solace. Jason Grace. Leo Valdez. Mary-Lou. Nico di Angelo. Piper McLean. Kayla Knowles. Austin Lake. Annabeth Chase. Frank Zhang. Reyna Ramirez-Arellano. Travis and Conner Stoll. Chiron.

All dead. Lifeless and cold and limp on the ground before him.

His blue orbs stung with tears, and he felt his heartbeat speed up painfully in his chest. He forced himself to focus through his blurring vision, "Gaea. What are you doing here? Michael Kahale and Leo Valdez destroyed you."

Much to his dismay, his voice sounded, hoarse, breathy. With each passing moment he was becoming more dizzy and lightheaded, and black spots were beginning to dance in front of him.

_So they did._

"Then how are you here?" Octavian demanded.

_As I said: it was all you._

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, " _What?_ "

 _This is what you wanted, was it not?_ Gaea gestured vaguely at the bodies. The breeze had gotten much stronger, Octavian noted distantly. _A kingdom lack of vermin?_

 _"_ I-" he blanched, tears dripping down his cheeks as a sob bubbled up in his throat. "No. No, I didn't-" He scanned the camp, the reality of it all sinking into his heart and shattering it like the glass of the sea in the brewings of a hurricane.

 _My dear augur, you destroyed those_ graecus, _slaughtered them, and now-_

A piercing pain exploded in his chest, and he screamed. When he looked down, gold glinted maliciously up at him through a casing of dripping blood; _his_ blood, he realized.

His breath shortened to desperate, painful gasps. He managed to pull his gaze over his shoulder, only to be greeted by the hideous face of a roman centaur. The beast grinned maliciously at him, burying the imperial gold sword further into him until only its hilt could be seen.

Gods, he could _feel_ the slide of the gold against his muscle and bone, the snap of each vein as the sword tore through him. He could feel his lungs constricting and collapsing as blood quickly flooded them, his heart pumping ferociously as it emptied.

_-I shall slaughter you. Like the worthless dog you are._

XXX

Octavian gasped awake, a hoarse scream echoing in his ears. He buried his hands in his hair, pulling at it as everything came back full force and his breath was still coming out in painful gasps and he couldn't breathe through the blood in his lungs and his head was spinning with ferocity and all he could see was white- "Gaea!"

"What's wrong?"

"He had a nightmare, I think. . ."

"We have to do something; he thinks he's still dreaming, but according to his vitals signs, he conscious. At this rate, his condition will only worsen."

"Perhaps I can calm him."

Someone touched him gently, and he peeled his eyes open reluctantly.

A centaur!

He yelped, scrambling away so fast that he nearly fell off the cot. He curled into a ball, whimpering and shutting his eyes tightly. Something pinched the back of his hand, and he heard an annoyed sigh.

"Now I have to replace the IV again."

"Chiron, he's frightened of you."

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Here, allow me. I'm a fellow Roman, perhaps he'll recognize me."

Someone touched him again, and his eyes flew open again, fully expecting to be staring into the dull eyes of a roman centaur.

Purple and black were the first colours he made out, and he shakily grasped what he _hoped_ was a praetor's cloak. His shirt was grasped gently, as if to create a sense of balance in the space between them. More tears spilled onto his sunken cheeks, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place as he looked into pair of swimming brown eyes, "R-Reyna?"

"Yes, Octavian. Can you breathe for me?"

He'd forgotten he was still short of breath, teetering on the edge of a panic attack until she'd brought him full circle, pushing it right in front of him and dropping it at his feet.

And he tried to breathe, he really did, but adrenaline was still buzzing in his very bones, yanking his muscles out of his control and making him dizzier than he thought possible.

His grip tightened, eyes wide and more tears gathering on the rims, "I- I can't-"

Reyna's hand appeared on his chest, and his was guided toward her diaphragm. "It's okay, Octavian," she soothed. "But you must _breathe_. Follow me: be strong like a Roman and untroubled like a Greek."

He focused on her breath, the steady thrumming of oxygen in her lungs, the way it never faltered, never changed.

_Strong, steady, calm._

It took several minutes, but eventually he managed to even out his breathing, and his vision cleared as his lungs sang in relief; the adrenaline sputtered out like a broken engine.

Exhausted, he passed into nothingness.

XXX

Reyna's regal face was troubled as she clenched her fists tightly. Standing over Octavian, feverish and pained and exhausted, she was only a little surprised to feel a sisterly tug of protection and sadness. The same tug she'd felt towards Nico before, when they'd traveled together.

How had they fallen so far, so quickly?

A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, breaking through her thoughts. Will's concerned face was gazing back at her, "Hey, you alright?

Reyna nodded, then shook her head. She sighed, "I've never seen him like this. He's always stayed away from the battlefield, so to speak. I've never seen him cry, and not once have I witnessed him having a nightmare. It's. . . unsettling, to say the least."

A brief silence settled before Chiron queried, "How do you mean 'witnessed?'"

She sighed again, chiding herself for not watching her words as closely as she usually took care to do. "He frequently had nightmares at Camp Jupiter, but his cries would always die out by the time I could get up to check on him, and he would never allow me to be a confidant for him. He's always kept to himself; even I'm not knowledgeable of his history or anything personal on him. Jason and I simply had to take his word that he was a descendant of Apollo and could legally be Camp Jupiter's augur. He had all the correct documents."

Will frowned as he replaced the IV, wisely not glancing up at Reyna as he did, "How long has he actually been living at Camp Jupiter?"

"Well, he was first integrated at the age of eleven. Then, when he was about fifteen, I think, he received a letter which requested his immediate presence. He was gone the next morning, and didn't return until several months later."

"Where did he go?"

Reyna shook her head, "We never found out. When he returned, we. . . found him collapsed, just inside the Camp. He had no severe wounds that we could find; he was simply. . . exhausted. We assumed he was fatigued from his journey. It took him several days of rest to recuperate, and he refused to relate any of the past several months to us."

"We do not know much about him," Chiron conceded. "So, what _do_ we know about him?"

"I know he's eighteen," Reyna began, ticking off on her fingers. "I know he and his heritage is Roman. I know he has an admittedly infuriating power complex, though I'm not certain as to _why_."

"He mentioned before that he believes all of both camps hates him," Chiron added.

"That's because most everyone _does_ ," Will put in guiltily.

"Must it remain that way? Chiron inquired, face falling in dismay.

"I don't think we can do much about that, Chiron," Will replied grimly. Reyna gave in to her urge to smooth back Octavian's hair, smiling softly when he leaned into the touch.

"I fear you are right, my boy," Chiron said as he watched Reyna, hope showing itself to him in the sisterly act of the praetor. "But still, one must hope." He took a deep breath, his face hardening as resolve settled in his chest, "I will allow the camps to decide whether or not they shall accept Octavian."

"And if they refuse him?" Reyna asked, her voice almost trembling.

"Then he shall stay, regardless."

"Chiron!" Will exclaimed, eyes widening. "But that'll put the camp in an outrage!"

"That matters not," Chiron responded solemnly. "It is what must be risked to save a young man's life."

Octavian stirred, presently, coughing. His eyes squeezed shut in pain when he tried to sit up, so Will gently pushed him back down with a hand on his chest.

Octavian startled a little at the touch, bringing a fist to his mouth as he coughed again.

Chiron spoke to him cautiously, unsure, "Octavian?"

The augur only shook his head, letting out a shaky breath.

"Would care for some water, perhaps?"

A nod, and the centaur was off to fulfill the request.

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence before Octavian spoke, his voice weak and soft, "I need you to do something, and I need you to agree before he comes back."

Will and Reyna exchanged glances. "Anything," the praetor responded.

"Kill me."

Reyna's heart skipped a beat; she tasted bile in her mouth, "What?"

Octavian didn't look up as he explained: "Chiron wishes me dead, but he doesn't know that yet, so he wouldn't do it. Since you two are the only ones here at the moment, I need one of you to do it."

Will's swallow echoed in the room, "Octavian. . . we don't want you dead."

Octavian sighed in frustration, "It appears I was mistaken. You don't know either."

"Octavian. . ." Reyna's voice was softer than he had ever heard it, but he wasn't in the mood for faux sympathy.

"Please," he looked up at last, eyes desperate and angry.

"They will be doing nothing of the sort, my dear boy," Chiron said firmly, making sure Octavian drank all the water given to him. "What you _will_ be doing, is _resting_. You are very ill, and exerting yourself will most certainly not help."

"It doesn't matter, though, does it?" Octavian said, rubbing the back of his neck and setting the glass down on the table beside him.

"I can assure you, Octavian, it most certainly does," Chiron argued, voice deadly calm. "Now, either you rest willingly, or I will be forced to sedate you."

Octavian swallowed, hands clenching into fists around the sheets of his cot before he reluctantly complied, allowing the blankets to be pulled over him. He was out within moments.

"What was that?" Chiron demanded, almost indignant.

Will took a deep breath, looking at Chiron imploringly, "We're going to have to keep a closer eye on him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the horrible ending. I'd mulled over it for literally DAYS, and I just could not think of a better way to end this.
> 
> I suppose this is why authors have editors xD. If you guys think of a better ending (I'm certain you will), please let me know, and I'll do my best to integrate it. And if you don't, that's perfectly okay : )
> 
> Make sure you leave your lovely thoughts before you leave in search of more fanfiction!


	4. But the Sun Was Much Too Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that Michael Kahale kind of wrote himself in this chapter, and I like it.
> 
> As I said, I'm gonna put warnings before and after the sort-of suicide attempt. It's not so much an attempt as it is literally asking someone to kill them, but if that puts you off, that's absolutely okay. I'll put a * before and after the scene.
> 
> Again, don't forget to let me know what you guys think of this particular chapter, and definitely let me know if something rubs you up the wrong way, so to speak.
> 
> Cause I will fite-  
> No, I'm just kidding
> 
> Here we go.

Octavian swallowed as he watched Will leave for some medication (he'd told him what it was, but he hadn't bothered to listen), the cardiogram beeping dutifully beside him.

He was tempted to pay Kahale a visit, but he could tell just by feeling out the muscles in his legs that he would be too weak to walk that far.

He _had_ to know know what had been raging through Michael's mind when he'd attacked him before. Perhaps what had been there when he'd been exiled? But why not kill him?

When Octavian thought back to it, he distinctly recalled feeling extremely weak, and thus unable to outrun Kahale, and Michael obviously wasn't concerned about public witnesses.

He'd had every chance to kill Octavian, so why hadn't he?

There _had_ to be a reason.

Will came back then, a new IV bag in hand. He reminded Octavian to stay on his side when the augur tried to roll over onto his back. Octavian barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the obviously feigned concern. Instead, he curled up on his side under the heavy blanket as Will hung up the bag.

It was a yellowish colour, and for a strange moment, he thought it was urine. He mentally scoffed; why would it be urine?

"It's called a banana bag, or a Jane Doe bag," Will explained, reading Octavian's expression as a query. "Since your nutrient levels are so low, and your digestive system can't handle solid foods just yet, this will help by administering nutrients via liquids."

Octavian pretended to listen, nodding when Will finished, but his thoughts were already wandering back to Kahale.

Perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time? Octavian's belt was probably somewhere in the Big House, most likely in the infirmary.

Would they have removed Octavian's knife? Most definitely, considering how little trust was held towards both parties.

If Kahale could somehow procure the knife, there would be no stopping Octavian's murder, since he was certain no one would try to stop Michael.

Octavian's heart fluttered in fear, but more so in admiration and anticipation.

If Octavian had figured it correctly, the crime would be perfect: Kahale loathed the Roman legion and its regulations, and both camps loathed Octavian. Anybody could kill him, but it wouldn't be as perfect as if Kahale were to kill him.

But Michael was no escape artist.

XXX

When Octavian woke at two in the morning, Will fast asleep beside his bed, the message was clear enough.

He rose cautiously, staggering when he stood and clenching his fists until the nails bit into his flesh and the black spots dancing behind his eyelids disappeared.

He pressed on, making it at last to the trunk by the entrance to the medical ward and picking the lock easily. He rummaged quietly until he found his knife.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt, his determination wavering. But he thrust it away, resolve hardening once more; this at least he owed him.

He slowly made his way to the cellar, picking the lock again. He briefly realized with a strange nostalgia that he hadn't picked locks since he'd been in. . . well, no time to think about that now. He had to act quickly if he wanted this done right.

With some difficulty, he descended the short flight of stairs, immediately spotting Kahale sitting chained against the wall, asleep.

*

He woke almost the moment Octavian set foot in the little room, gazing at the augur with something akin to curiosity, sleep already absent from his mind. He sized up Octavian, glancing at the knife in his hand.

"Come to finish the job?"

"Why didn't you kill me?" Octavian redirected quietly.

Even in the dark, Octavian could see Michael's eyes narrow, "Why would I have wanted to kill you?"

"You've killed before," Octavian growled. "How would it be any different?"

"It's not," Kahale conceded. He tilted his head, a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Except that I didn't want to kill you."

"You're lying," Octavian accused fiercely, pacing closer, not bothering to be discreet. "Why did you hold off?" He wanted to know, _needed_ to know. "Why not just off me?"

Kahale paused a moment, chuckling, albeit confusedly, "You got a death wish, boss?"

Octavian deflated, wincing at the title, but refused to avert his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.

That forced Michael into several moments of nonplussed silence before he could speak again, voice quiet and face hard, "Is that why you're here?"

Octavian swallowed thickly, looking away this time, "Yes."

Kahale sighed, head dropping back onto the wall with a muffled thump. A heavy weight seemed to have descended upon him, and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly. Stifled regret rolled off of him almost in waves.

"Look, boss. It's like you said: I've killed before. Killed without hesitation or remorse. I'll admit I'm probably a little screwed up in the head, and who isn't? But I'm still Roman. I can't kill my superior; it's in my blood, see?"

Octavian blinked, brow furrowing, his gaze intense, "Then why-?"

"Why did I 'try' before?" Michael finished, fists clenching as he studied the ceiling. "I was angry, boss. I wanted revenge on the Romans and the Greeks. To confuse them. You- the Roman about to compromise the alliance they so desperately wanted- you almost die, they'd be forced to realize just _how much_ they want you gone, while having to deal with me at the same time.

"I wanted them to question their supposed 'clean slate' morality. I guess they found out where they really stand: they're not so much different than us exiled citizens``. I didn't expect that centaur to be so adamant about keeping you alive though; I was afraid I might've done more damage than I thought I had. That's a relief."

A lump formed in Octavian's throat, "So, you. . . you. . . won't kill me?"

Michael's silence was all the answer he needed. Tears gathered at the rims of his eyes as a sudden desperation rose within him, and he stumbled forward, unlocking Michael's bonds.

Kahale was looking at him with a strange emotion in his eyes, "What are you doing, boss?"

Octavian pointedly ignored his blotting vision and the growing constriction in his chest.

The second fetter came loose, but Michael only came up to sit back on his heels, rubbing his wrists as he sought out Octavian's gaze. "Octavian, what are you doing?"

He noted somewhere in the back of his mind that Kahale had finally dared to call him by name. So, he finally had his attention. Good. This was important.

"I need you to kill me," Octavian almost pleaded, holding out the knife with a trembling hand just as his knees buckled and he staggered forward.

Somehow, Michael managed to dodge the knife but catch him before he hit the floor, and Octavian was too weak to pull away.

Michael noticed the warmth beneath his fingertips and felt the back of the augur's neck. It was nearly burning. He frowned, "You have a fever."

"All the easier to kill me," Octavian muttered, letting out a painful string of coughs. _Why was everyone so insistent to pretend that they cared?_

Michael hefted him up carefully, heart dropping in sympathy when he didn't struggle, "Jeez, Octavian, what happened to you?"

If Octavian had heard him, he showed no indication of it. His voice had grown hoarse, breath erratic and eyes dropping exhaustedly.

"Please," he whispered, his head lolling to rest on Michael's chest. The knife fell as his fingers went lax, falling to the floor with a loud clang.

*

Michael gathered him up into his arms just as hurried footsteps suddenly approached the cellar. Octavian whimpered, gripping the fabric of Michael's shirt and squeezing his eyes shut.

He let out a harsh, pained breath just as Will Solaced appeared, wide-eyed and a little breathless. Surprise, then panic and anger, flitted across his face, but Michael ignored it in favor of bounding up the steps and past the son of Apollo to nearest bed he could find.

Before he could protest, he lay Octavian on the cot. He turned to Will, who was only standing there, stunned.

" _Well?_ " Michael demanded, and Will shook himself out of his stupor, striding to Octavian's side and quickly replacing the IV line.

The augur groaned, not quite out of it, but not quite there. He gripped the sheets as the pain in his back returned with a vengeance, and the fever set off another bout of shivering.

Will noticed and quickly upped the morphine, which seemed to relax him a bit. But he was still writhing, coughs pushing themselves through his lips and forcing him to sit up in spite of his exhaustion.

He fell back down after much too long, breaths escaping in quick, pained huffs.

"Octavian," Will tried, hands hovering over the older boy as if afraid his touch might make the augur worse. "I need you to try to stay still for a little bit. The morphine still needs some time to-"

Octavian's strangled cry cut him off, so he tried again.

This time, he did still, but he was still breathing erratically, sweat beginning to drip of his temples. Will pressed a hand to his forehead, and Octavian arched up into it, whimpering softly. With his inherited abilities, Will immediately calculated the temperature: 103.4.

Will removed his hand, draping a soaked towel across his eyes. The younger boy was squirming nervously inside as he waited for the morphine to take full effect. When it finally did, what could still be seen of Octavian's face was tight with pain, brows furrowed and mouth pulled down in a grimace, as if he'd tasted something sour.

Will ran a hand through his hair before leading a strangely compliant Michael back to his holding cell.

XXX

Octavian's waking was slow and painful. _Very_ painful.

The moment he woke, burning agony shot through him, forcing a hoarse cry from the back of his throat, hot tears quickly finding their way down his cheeks. As his back arched up, he discovered he'd lost considerable mobility in his arms.

This only created panic, and instinctively he tried to stifle another cry so as not to alert his captors.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, this could _not_ be happening again.

They were rushing to him now in a flurry of footfalls and panicked words. He was writhing, begging them to stay away.

A hand touched his arm, and he jerked away with a shout, breaths beginning to come in irregular bursts. He was yelling now, because it was the only thing that would make them leave, or else they would knock him out, which at the very least would allow him some peace.

"He's delirious," a calm voice muttered, and for a split second something cold graced his forehead. He flinched away with a growl.

He hated them, hated that they kept him trapped here until somebody- _nobody_ \- came to get him. Came to "rescue" him.

"His temperature's at 104.8," the same voice reported, and he felt two pregnant pricks on the back of his immobilized hand.

He growled again, struggling desperately against his bonds. The voice was talking to him now, trying to get him to come down.

"Octavian, you're okay. You're in the Big House infirmary. I don't where you think you are right now, but you're _not there_."

Octavian's eyes darted open, looking around wildly before settling on his captor, who was resting a hand on Octavian's abdomen, looking down at him in concern. _Looking down on him._ Wasn't that just what he existed for? To be looked down upon, to be ridiculed?

And of course he was being tricked- he was still in the same cell they had stuck him in several weeks ago- but then why did this young boy above him look so concerned and so. . . kind?

Perhaps his mother had sent someone at last to rescue him? No, she would never- and what was this Big House the boy had mentioned? It didn't sound familiar-

"Octavian?" the boy was trying to get his attention again, his grip loosening just so.

Octavian blinked, startling out of his thoughts. How could this boy know his name? He hadn't told anyone since running away from home-

And the Big House didn't sound familiar- _injured, Chiron, pain, dark, alone, confusion, whyweretheyhelpinghim, Will, Nico, Gaea, his fault, Reyna, Chiron, Will, refusingadying (nodesperate)boy'swish, Michael, fear, hope, pain, pain, pain, delirium, fever, pain-_ except now all of it did, and he was screaming because his back was on fire again, and Will was scrambling to up the morphine, and Octavian couldn't tell him no- _no he doesn't want to live just give him this small mercy- he deserved this pain, he deserved this-_

_*_

" _No!_ I need the pain, it should be there! Just let it kill me! Please! Please!"

Somehow he heard Will swallow as he continued to inject the morphine into his system. Octavian tried to lash out, tried to stop him, but the bonds did their job well.

He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, sobs building in his throat and bubbling up until all he could do was lay there and cry, hard and desperate, hot tears streaming down his face.

*

Will disappeared for a moment, returning quickly with Reyna in tow. And he was sobbing helplessly, unable to stop and unaware of where exactly all this _hurt_ had come from, and how his heart could ache _so badly-_

He startled when Reyna lay down beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. Then she was embracing him, letting him tuck his face into her shoulder and just holding him as he cried. He melted into the embrace faster than he could realize that he'd never been hugged before.

It was eternity before he passed out in her arms, exhausted and head spinning, tears still tracking down his pale face.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ``since Romans in the Roman empire were considered citizens, I figured this would be the best term to use in that particular context
> 
> Also, for those that skipped the scene, basically Octavian asked Kahale why he didn't end him when he had the chance, Kahale said it was because he wanted to shove the Greeks and Romans moral compasses in theirs faces since he was still bitter about being exiled before Octavian had called him back in the last book (who wouldn't be?). Then Octavian passed out, and Michael caught him and lifted him up.
> 
> The second one was Octavian begging Will to stop the morphine drip because he feels like he deserves to feel as much pain as he would without it.


	5. So I Found A Cave and Made It Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're really getting into it, aren't we?
> 
> You guys excited? I'm definitely excited.
> 
> Also, before we get going, I'll just mention on a side note that I recommend listening to Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, by Set It Off (preferably on repeat) during this chapter. I listened to it on repeat while I wrote it, and it worked really well, too, when I was revising it.
> 
> Just. . . trust me.
> 
> Just a warning that, essentially, this entire chapter is a panic attack.

Never in the time that Reyna had known Octavian, did she think she would be granted the opportunity to comfort him in midst of a nightmare.

But she was studying his face, wiping the last of the salt-marked tracks from his burning cheeks when she found herself in the middle of one.

He made a pained noise, harrowed and desperate in its nature, breath beginning to pick up in a way that conveyed a strong sense of fear. She knew what was coming, so she embraced him again, holding him tight in hopes that she could alleviate his suffering.

But another sob built in his throat ( _gods_ they had just calmed him down, barely an hour ago, tears drying and heart at peace (at least as far as his could be)), so she adjusted herself (she couldn't adjust them both, they'd had to restrain him so he wouldn't try to kill himself again and she hadn't quite processed the fact that _Octavian was trying to kill himsel_ f) and called his name.

But his tears still overflowed and fell down his cheeks and she was shaking him now, begging him to come back to the life that he needed but so desperately _despised-_

Then he's jolting awake with a sudden gasp, like he's drowning and she's pulling him to the surface, and it takes him a moment to recognize her and her a moment to register that he's awake, he's terrified, and he's _crying_.

So they lay there for several moments, tears streaming down Octavian's face and pale blue eyes wide with panic and Reyna realizes with a searing jolt that all the other times this had happened, before, he must have curled into a ball, pressing his face into his knees to muffle his tears, sobbing until he had to compose himself and face the mockery of the entire camp.

The camp that never asked about him, never asked why he seemed to be skipping more and more meals as the years wore on until he hardly ever appeared in the mess hall, or why the ~~hastily concealed~~ bags under his empty eyes seemed to be dragging him down onto the ground so all he could do was crumble where he stood and deny ever having room in his heart for such trivial things as _emotions._

And now his face was contorting into something like shame ( _no that wasn't right Octavian didn't_ feel _shame, only pride, only confidence, only bravado-_ ) and he scowled ( _it wasn't at her, it was at himself, Reyna realized)_ , but hid his face in her shirt all the same. He let out a reluctant, angry sob, clenching his hands into fists until his knuckles were painted a paler porcelain.

She pulled him closer in response, despite feeling terrified at the prospect that Octavian, of all people, had just _given up,_ letting a willing body hold him as he cried, though Reyna suspects she'll never know the contents of his many nightmares.

But she can do that, she can allow him his privacy.

Honestly, she's surprised that she's able to comfort him in this way, or at all. She'd always been an emotional child, but sorely lacking in the skill-set of empathy, which everyone else around her seemed to excel in.

And Octavian's trying not to break down again, breath halting and body racked with ruthless tremors.

So she hushes him, wiping the tears away (even though they keep falling in spite of their efforts, like he won't stop like he _can't stop_ ), when he looked up at her, embarrassed and exhausted and his eyes-

His eyes are still empty.

She reaches out to hold his face in her hands, gently urging him to look at her, managing to pull rank solely in her tone, "Octavian. I am not here to turn you away. I will not laugh, I am not cruel, and I certainly will not deny a soldier his dues."

But he's gasping for breath, moving his arms towards her like he wants to hug her back, but he doesn't dare to admit that he _desires_ to explore this new, detached gesture.

Instead, he shakes his head, breathing out hoarsely, "I can't- I don't _feel anything,_ Reyna, _it won't- I'm just- I can't feel anything-_ " His breath stutters, like he's just coming to terms with this reality, this _fact_ of his, and now's he's teetering on the edge of another panic attack.

"You've been broken," Reyna says, holding him closer still and gently undoing the bonds, knowing he's too weak to run and she's too determined to let him. "I understand how that feels. But I need you to trust me, Octavian. A soldier does what he must. You know this."

His breath catches, maybe weighing her words in his head ( _and she's impressed, she really is, but doesn't think now is the best time for him practice self-control; she just needs him to trust her, to release the twelve years of suppressed emotions locked deep within the recesses of his-_ )

But then it's like a dam breaks in his heart and something shatters deep inside him, and he's desperately returning the embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck and letting loose a new flood of tears, stronger and more overwhelmed than its predecessor.

And the only thing she knows to do is stare a hole into the wall of the infirmary, face indifferent, one hand resting on the small of his back.

"Octavian," she said, like his name was all that needed to be said so he _knew_ that _she saw him_ , that he was _there_.

And that was all he needed.


	6. And Still the Sunlight Followed Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, Reyna never seemed to be annoyed by Octavian, per se. She always seemed to know how to work around him, in a manner of speaking. She wouldn't exactly ignore him, but she wouldn't address his solutions either.
> 
> And, sometimes, she actually did consider his solutions, and actually agreed with him (once, I think).
> 
> And on that note-  
> . . . Let me know if I got him right.

Percy had only gone to the Big House to check on Chiron and Reyna, to make sure that little gremlin of an augur hadn't hurt them.

He'd been trying for days to get in, but they always made sure to keep the doors locked (despite Percy's multiple attempts to pick them), and Will had insisted vehemently that Percy not go in.

He saw why, now.

He saw why, finding Octavian curled up limply just past the threshold of the infirmary, shiverng and unconscious.

He saw why, when he realized that (now) the only recognizable thing about the miserable form on the floor was the stringy blonde hair, and even that was beginning to fade.

He hesitated, torn between rage and compassion, as he often found himself.

His fingers brushed over Riptide, sitting readily in his pocket.

Octavian had tried to conquer both camps. He had helped Gaea.

Percy could kill him.

Right here. Right now.

Octavian would be utterly at his mercy.

But.

Octavian was only eighteen. He was still a camper. He still had an entire life to live.

But Leo didn't.

But he had promised Annabeth he wouldn't be merciless, wouldn't be reckless anymore. Never again.

Annabeth wouldn't want this.

He crouched beside Octavian, grasping the augur's wrist, the skin burning with a strange sort of vengeance.

A pulse fluttered haphazardly beneath his fingertips.

 _Good,_ Percy thought. Wanted to think.

Then Octavian was blinking awake, drawing sharp breaths as a whine escaped his blue-tinted lips.

 _Blue,_ Percy mused with something between mirth and a vague pang of concern. So Octavian wasn't getting enough oxygen, enough blood flowing through him.

That would explain why Chiron had looked almost terrified when Jason and him had first hotly inquired why the augur was recieving medical attention. The kind centaur was afraid that Octavian would lose too much blood to survive.

Octavian whined again, like he knew someone was in the room with him, and he didn't want them to know he was in pain.

He was in pain, Percy realized. Of course he was in pain.

He had to get him off the floor.

He shook Octavian's shoulder, trying to rouse him to lucidity, "We need to get you up."

Octavian paused a moment, breath slowing a little, like he was trying to connect Percy's voice with his face. He must have remembered, because in the next moment he was gasping and curling in tighter about himself, then crying out and straightening.

A hoarse, weak excuse for a voice scraped out of his throat, "Please, please, I'm sorry. I just wanted water." His arms inched upwards in a sad attempt to shield himself.

And how ironic it was, Percy thought, that he, the son of the sea god, would find his enemy pliant on the hard floor, begging for _water._

"Octavian," he called gently (as gently as he could with rage still burning in his heart). "It's alright. Let's get you into the living room. I can get you some water."

Octavian seemed to be trying (in vain) to contain his panic now, his breath picking up until he was gasping and wheezing, and Percy was surprised to hear how painful it sounded. Just to breathe.

But he couldn't struggle when Percy hooked his hands under his arms and pulled him into a fireman's carry, like he'd watched Will do many a time before (especially with Nico).

It was a short walk to the living room, but the whole time Octavian is breathless and racked with harsh coughs and violent shudders, making it near immposible for Percy to ignore the growing pit of sympathy in his gut.

He tries to take comfort in the fact that Octavian is only half-aware of anything around him at the moment, and that Percy still stands by his opinion that Octavian deserves at least _some_ of what he's gone through since Gaea's defeat.

Once they get to the living room, he deposites Octavian (almost) gently onto the couch, draping a blanket over him before making his way to the adjoining kitchen.

By the time he comes back- water in one hand, ibuprofen in the other (he doesn't know if it'll help, but it's worth a shot)- Octavian has dozed off again, curled into a loose, trembling ball.

He's facing the back of the couch, head and knees and arms pressed into it like he was actively trying to disappear, even in sleep.

Placing his items on a nearby table, he rolls Octavian onto his back, feeling a dim pang of guilt when Octavian cries out, his entire profile stiffening in pain.

Percy quickly rolled him back over, lifting the augur's shirt carefully.

Hell.

He'd forgotten about Octavian's injuries; Chiron hadn't been exaggerating.

He can see the lines of the stitches even under the bandages, which- he realizes- _really_ need to be changed.

And Percy can recognize an infection when he sees one, from its likeness to Annabeth's knife wound in the Second Titan War, compared to which Octavian's looks somehow worse.

So he runs back for bandages, then carefully sits behind the augur, looking for the best place to start.

He finds an opening near Octavian's seventh rib, and begins to pick away at it. Never has he been so tested in self-control and self-awareness.

He thinks about leaving the bandages on, letting it infect the wound until it can't be fixed, leaving Octavian outside, on the ground, letting him fester in and become the pain he's carried around for all this time.

But he shouldn't.

It's not right.

And it _infuriates_ him that it's not.

He _wants_ it to be okay. He _wants_ to be able to take his revenge.

But it's _not right._

**_Why?_ **

Because _it's not._

**_Why?_ **

_It's_ _just not._

**_But why?_ **

He stops himself when Octavian yelps. It takes him several moments to register that he's gripping Octavian's bare shoulder hard enough to make both of their skin bloom white on impact.

He releases Octavian's shoulder as if he'd been burned.

**_Why not?_ **

_We're_ _not going there._

He makes sure to tie the new bandages tight enough to be effective, but not so hard that it presses against or prods Octavian's stitches. He makes a mental note to have Will check his handiwork before nudging over a trashcan with his foot.

Even knowing that Percy could very well kill him, Octavian doesn't have enough strength to hold himself up while the younger boy disposes of the soiled bandages.

He's hazy and confused, trying with desperate little whimpers and whines and huffs to convey that he doesn't want to be awake, or near Percy, or near anyone that would kill him, given the chance.

. . . He just wants _water._

As if on cue, a straw is at his lips, and he parts them as much as he can, drinking several gulps of cold, fresh water.

Two tiny pills slip past his lips, too, and something in the back of his mind anticipated ( _hoped_ ) a fatal potion of some sort.

He didn't do much in the way of pushing it away, even as Jackson lay him back on the couch, leaving the blanket draped haphazardly over his fetal-pulled form.

Just as Percy turned to leave, to find Will, a kind voice from the doorway of the infirmary stopped him.

"Percy."

He spun on his heel to see Chiron in human form, eyes intense with concern.

"What are you doing here? I gave specific instructions-"

Percy squirmed under his teacher's gaze. "I found. . ." the augur's name appararently still didn't sit well on Percy's tongue. He deliberated for a moment, finally settling on simply pointing toward the shivering form on the sofa, "I found him out of bed. He asked for water."

Chiron's lips parted, maybe in surprise. "And you fulfilled his request?" the centaur asked slowly, a little skeptical (Percy _definitely_ read that correctly).

Oh. He should probably explain his sudden change in attitiude toward the augur. Maybe later.

"I. . . yeah," Percy stuttered out, feeling a little sheepish, through he wasn't sure _why_. "It sucks being thirsty, and I figured he's probably really dehydrated, so I just. . ."

He trailed off, not sure where to go from there, "I changed his bandages, too, so. . ."

Chiron smiled. A gentle, relieved smile that made Percy's heart glow, "Thank you, my boy."

He wheeled over to Octavian quickly, urging him to lay back all the way and pulling the blanket to the boy's chin.

Percy nodded, tip-toeing out of the room. He spotted Reyna sleeping in the infirmary bed as he passed the Medbay before opening the door of the Big House, and stepping into the sunlight.

XXX

It seemed Percy had learnt much during his many travels, Chiron mused, thanking the gods that the boy had found some mercy in his heart, as Chiron knew he could.

He would do well in his later years (oh, how Chiron _prayed_ he would live so long).

At Chiron's gentle shake, Octavian's eyes fluttered open, peering up at him blearily. "Chiron?" he croaked, voice cracked and pained.

"Indeed you _are_ in need of some water, my boy," Chiron said softly, helping Octavian drink from the half-full glass once more.

He spotted the bottle of ibuprofen sitting innocently on the end table, and a fond smile tugged at his lips.

Percy had always been kinder than he would admit.

"Chiron, Chiron," Octavian was gasping, poking his hands out from the blanket, and the centaur hushed him gently, catching his hands and tracing a thumb over the boy's cheek.

He frowned when it came back with a near-invisible sheen of salt.

That would explain the thirst.

"Chiron," Octavian pressed, deliriously terrified. "That- that Jackson boy, he- he was here. Where- where- where did he. . . ?"

Chiron hushed him again when it began to sound like it hurt for the poor boy to talk, "It's alright, my boy. I'm here, now. Percy was only helping."

Octavian's brow furrowed, like he couldn't quite wrap his mind around what Chiron had said. "I- I don't-" he trailed off, swallowing thickly.

After a few moments, he shook his head lightly and squeezed his eyes shut, as if resigning himself to a puzzle he would never solve.

Chiron pressed a warm hand to Octavian's face, stroking it for several minutes until the augur relaxed, letting his head loll back to rest on the arm of the couch.

When Chiron was sure he was asleep, he went to retrieve Will.

XXX

"I don't get it," Jason said, arms crossed and near-pissed as he stared steadily at Percy from across the table.

Six of the seven friends were sitting at one of the tables in the mess hall, food in front of them and morality tearing at their hearts. Just like all those _wonderful_ conversations aboard the Argo II, Jason couldn't help but think. "How could you feel any pity for him?" he ask incredulously, frowning.

"You weren't there," Percy said, hands placating and a little defensive. "He was _miserable,_ guys. He couldn't even sit up. And that wound was in _bad_ shape."

Jason sighed, almost exasperated, "I survived a stab wound, _without_ a proper medbay, Percy. I'm sure it's not-"

"It was infected," Percy broke in. Everyone looked at him surprise.

"How?" Annabeth asked from beside him, grey eyes fierce with determination. "Besides Chiron, Will is the best healer in camp. It _can't_ be infected."

"I don't know," Percy shook his head, still trying to understand it himself. "But he was passed out on the floor when I found him. He has a fever, stitches, anxiety, the whole package."

"Anxiety?" Hazel perked up.

"About what?" Piper finished skeptically.

"When I tried to wake him up, and he realized it was me, he started to freak out," Percy explained. "I think he was. . . scared of me."

"Scared of you," Piper echoed, eyes thoughtful with newfound curiosity.

"It was weird," Percy agreed. He waved in the general direction of the Romans at the table, "I don't think even you guys would recognize him, at this point."

"Should we go see him?" Hazel asked, ever the kind one.

"No," Frank chimed in, shaking his head. "If Percy's right, he's too fragile right now to be around anyone else."

"That doesn't matter," Jason insisted. "Until I see him for myself, he'll never be too fragile to face his accusers."

"Fine," Percy stood, reaching out to shake hands with Jason. Everyone nodded when they parted.

"In fact," Percy added, locking eyes with Jason and Piper, "the whole camp should see him. This is everyone's grief, not just ours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Argo II crew is back, baby!


	7. Perhaps Because It Wanted Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to do a character study on Octavian, and writing fanfiction is honestly the only way I know how. And, if any of you do a character study on Octavian as well, in any form, please let me know. Because I will want to read it immediately.

Octavian didn't know where he was anymore, just that there was just too much noise, and too many lights, and too much pain.

He was floating, somehow, trapped in that daze between sleep and wakefulness. He groaned, a quiet, desperate little thing, and someone grasped his hand tightly.

He startled, nearly pulling away, but the haze hanging over him kept him from doing anything other than letting out a small, confused whine.

But there was, he realized, a particular place he could almost pinpoint that would explain the source of the brightest light, and the noise, it was a resounding, almost thundering, chattering. Hundreds of people talking, whispering, yelling.

There was an intense heat near him, and he could _feel_ himself struggling to breathe through the smoke it produced. Ironically, it made him begin to shiver violently, his breaths wheezing and flinching with each convulsion.

The hand gripped tighter, almost desperate. He wanted to peel open his eyes to see who was touching him, where the clamour was coming from, what the source of the heat was.

But somehow he knew he wouldn't be able to open his eyes no matter how much he wished to. He was simply too exhausted.

He was actually beginning to drift off- for once without the aid of his ever-present IV line (there was no pinch on the back of his hand)- and darkness was enveloping him like an impossibly soft blanket when he startled awake again, shaky breaths almost silently gasping for air.

_Octavian._

That sickly sweet voice had returned, and with it the intermittent pain in his back, and the persistent feverish tingle dancing relentlessly over his skin, drowning out everything else.

He tried to lash out, but only managed to pull his hand a few mere inches toward the voice.

_Octavian._

"No," he muttered, his heart bashing against his ribcage and blood roaring in his ears. He felt sick, hot bile rising in his throat and eyes beginning to burn.

He tried in vain to lash out again, and felt his hand fall off the edge of whatever it was he was on.

"Octavian."

And all at once the voice was gone, replaced now by a gentler one, and all the noise burst back into his senses like a bubble popping.

He realized that the voice was right above him, rather than anywhere, everywhere around him.

Somehow, he found the strength to slit open his eyes, greeted by the sight of Percy Jackson's worried yet resenting face, inches from his own.

His heart didn't slow in the least, panic twisting sickeningly in his stomach.

"Jackson," he murmured hoarsely, swallowing the thick bile still coating his tongue .

A trace of relief made its way onto Jackson's face, his lips hinting at a smile, "Hey, you're okay. We're bringing you in front of the campers; we're all at the campfire."

Octavian coughed, still gasping for air. "Everyone?" he breathed, grimacing at the thought of so much hate in one place.

"Yeah," Jackson replied, oblivious to Octavian's dread. "We're all here for you."

Octavian frowned, still struggling to breathe, "Why-?" He squeezed the hand holding his, "Who-?"

"It's only me, Octavian," Reyna's patient voice came from somewhere behind him.

"Where-?" Octavian swallowed, trying to wet his parched throat. "Where's Chiron?"

"Well, right now, he's trying to get everyone to quiet down so we can start," Percy replied, a hint of amusement colouring his tone.

"How are you feeling?"

What?

Octavian coughed, shook his head a little, "I don't understand-"

"The truth, Octavian," Reyna elaborated. "I want to know if anything feels any worse than before."

He coughed again, feeling very much like his lungs were being wrung out, "Thirsty. Can't breathe."

"That's probably because of the bonfire," Percy muttered.

"I don't suppose there's any way to put it out?" Reyna asked him. "If we still wish to do this as we discussed."

"No," Percy agreed grimly.

Octavian's eyes were slipping closed again, his energy diminishing once more.

"Hey, no," Percy said, shaking him a little. "We need you awake for this."

Octavian could only cough again in response.

"Percy!" Chiron's voice suddenly rose over the barely-contained clamour of demigods. "We're ready."

"Okay," Percy spoke softly into his ear as two arms snaked around either side of his waist, lifting him up. "You don't have to do anything. Just stay awake."

A whimper escaped Octavian's lips as his head began to pound, and someone mumbled an apology. Still, they carried him to what Octavian could only assume was the middle of the ampitheatre.

His feet dragged uselessly along the ground, his head hanging limply between his shoulders. He was glad that, at least this time, they knew to support his back; he didn't want to find out how much more stretching his stitches would tolerate.

He felt, rather than heard, the hush that almost immediately fell over the assembled demigods. Vaguely, he felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment when he realized that it was not only Greeks who had gathered to judge him, but also Romans. Former fellow campers.

His heart sped up again, pressing painfully against his ribcage, and another whimper escaped his lips.

The fire must have nearly gone out (a reaction to the camper's surprise, a quiet voice in the back of his mind informed him), because he almost didn't feel the heat now. Relieved, he breathed deeply, grateful for the fresh air.

Someone- Reyna, he assumed- gently rubbed their thumb over his hand.

"This," he heard Chiron say, loud enough that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that every camper would hear him, "is what remains of a young boy who has fallen prey to the temptation of power. A temptation which I am certain many of us, myself included, would fall prey to, given the proper circumstances.

"And if it is not power, then it is most certainly something else. All of us- present or otherwise- has a crippling weakness. Some of us fall, and some of us manage not to- at least. for a little. Because we shall all eventually fall. What do you suspect your fellow campers would do, if and when any of you do indeed fall?

"As I am confident many of you would agree: here, we are family, we protect one another, keep each other close, because we must. Because without that tight-knit quality of _family,_ we would not be able to protect one another, to survive in the often cruel world in which demigods find themselves thriving in.

"That said, I _entreat_ you to think about such a reality of power and struggle in application to your fellow camper: Octavian. He had fallen prey to his temptation, yes, but does he deserve the wrath of demigods? Should he be treated any differently from any other demigod who has been driven into darkness? Think of Ethan Nakamura; think of Luke Castellan; think of Chris Rodriguez."

Several moments passed before suddenly the fire was flaring up again, and once more smoke was filling Octavian's lungs, and he was gasping desperately for breath, raising his head in a vain attempt to clear his airway.

He heard heard a muffled voice call his name as his head rolled back, his eyes following suit.

The last thing he remembered was the intense heat and the collapsed feeling in his chest before everything went black.

XXX

He dreamt of fire and mud and ice and earth consuming both camps as he stood in the middle of it all, doubled over, manic laughter tumbling from his lips and hot tears streaming down his face.

He dreamt- no, _knew_ \- that the fate of both camps had been in _his hands_ , and only _his_.

Everything had collapsed _because of him._

He dreamt of Chiron- face streaked with blood and dirt and tears, standing before him, eyes steely and furious and filled with overwhelming grief.

Chiron was terrifying when he was furious, he had been told by one of his spies.

He saw now, beyond a doubt, that the spy had been absolutely right.

With a swiftly growing sense of dread and panic, Octavian drew away from the centaur, only for the powerful teacher to advance on him with a palpable determination.

Octavian tripped in his haste to retreat, hitting the ground with a condemning _thump._ He stifled a scream when his back flared up, shooting pain through the very marrow of his bones.

Chiron only glowered and raised his bow- his weapon of choice, Octavian knew- an arrow long since nocked in place.

Octavian managed to realize what Chiron was doing mere moments before he was pulling back the bowstring, aiming it directly at him.

"You killed my family," was all Chiron said before firing straight through Octavian's chest.

XXX

Octavian gasped awake to fingers on his throat and shouts resounding all around him as he lay on the hard ground. He let out a silent string of coughs, breathing hard.

"He's got a pulse," he heard someone say, but it sounded distant, as if it was being spoken through twenty layers of cotton.

"What's his bpm?" another voice asked.

A few moments passed before the first person replied grimly, "Sixty. He's suffering from serious arrhythmia and bradycardia."

"Thank you, Nico," the second voice said, grateful. A hand touched his bicep tentatively, another gently cradling his face, "Octavian, can you try to look me, please?"

"Will, he flat-lined for nearly five minutes. I doubt he can even _hear_ you."

"Thank you, Nico," and this time the second voice was practically dripping with sarcasm.

"He requires medical attention," a third voice interrupted, right behind him. "We must get him to infirmary immediately."

"Right," the second voice said."Nico, get him back on the stretcher. Be as gentle as you can, please."

He was lifted and placed carefully on something lax and obscurely soft. He groaned weakly when his stitches flared in protest.

"Octavian?" the second voice said in hopeful surprise. "Can you hear me?"

Octavian wheezed some semblance of affirmation, managing with herculean effort to move his arm a few inches; his body felt as if it were made of lead.

A hand took his, gripping it desperately, and a new voice- kind and a regal sort of feminine- spoke softly into his ear, "You're going to be okay, Octavian. I need you to promise me- make a vow- that you _will_ stay alive. If for nobody else, do it for me. _I_ want you alive; you are my friend and _our_ augur. _Stay alive_."

He managed a weak affirmation before he felt himself being lifted, and carried off.

Her hand did not slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this one, because we're almost done.
> 
> Weird, right?


	8. And Why Can't I just Accept That?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally sort of binged-watched a crapton of Game Grumps material, because they are amazing and have the best vibes.
> 
> They just make me so happy : ,
> 
> So, please check them out if you haven't already. They quickly became a part of my world; I'm sure they can become a part of yours as well.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on that channel, as well as this chapter, if you like.
> 
> This will be the last chapter before. . . well, you'll just have to wait and see ; )
> 
> Also, fair warning that there's a panic attack in the second part of this chapter.
> 
> And also tons of fluff : )

The first thing Octavian was aware of was a slimy, intruding feeling in his throat that was somehow branching all through his lungs; there was a gentle stickiness stretched across his lips.

And he couldn't open his mouth.

Why couldn't he open his mouth-? Why-

He exhaled sharply, trying to stave off the panic that was threatening now to seize him.

He drew in a breath (a gasp, really) shaky and halted in its hypothetical nature, but there all the same.

He told himself this, that he could still breathe, but it failed to ease the twisting grip of panic in his chest.

His heart was racing in his chest and he couldn't-

He swallowed, his breath refusing to wheeze, and he couldn't open his mouth, he couldn't breathe-

"Octavian-" Will appeared above him, hands out to placate the augur. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're on a ventilator. You couldn't breathe on your own, since your heart was beating too slowly. We didn't really have a choice."

Octavian's heart fluttered in relief, and he relaxed back into the familiarity of infirmary sheets.

"We can take it out in another day or so," Will went on. He grinned, then, eyes bright with delight and relief, "Oh, and your fever finally went down. You're only at 100.3 right now. As long as you don't ignore my instructions, you should be moderately fine in a few days, and we can let you out of Medical."

Octavian's eyes widened in alarm, darting to Will.

He smiled back kindly, "Don't worry. I think we managed to convince most of both camps that you aren't to to blame. Gaea was the main instigator of everything that happened; they'll all eventually come to see that."

Octavian stared up at the ceiling, not quite sure what do with this new reassurance.

Could he trust it? Was it true?

Was it really so simple? Secure for mere precious moments what he's been grappling at for the past several days, and suddenly he had their forgiveness?

It. . . it didn't- _seem_ right.

But Will wasn't inclined to lying, about most anything, to most anyone.

He dwelt on it for some time, trying to wrap his head around just the _feeling_ of acceptance and the _prospect_ of being devoid of constant pain.

The thought of it overwhelmed him, and he allowed himself to feel just the smallest bit ecstasy, so much so that butterflies filled the pit of stomach and a lump formed in his throat.

Never had he thought he could have ever been capable of such things.

Will gazed at him in concern, pressing a hand to his arm, "I'll be back in a few hours; I have to take care of some things. Try and get some rest while I'm gone." Satisfied by Octavian's nod of understanding, he headed out of the infirmary.

He had just emerged from the Big House, and was heading toward the archery range, when someone shouted his name. He turned, seeing Percy Jackson jogging across the green towards him.

He changed direction, meeting Percy halfway. The demigod's eyes were bright with alarm, his expression urgent.

Will frowned, looking Percy up and down, "You okay?"

He nodded vaguely, obviously distracted, "Is Octavian doing better?"

"Yeah, actually. His wounds are finally beginning to heal, and his fever dropped pretty low."

Percy let out a little breath of relief, "Good, because I think I know how his stitches got infected."

Meek anger slipped into Will's blue eyes, "Did someone admit to poisoning him?"

"No, no. It's not that, not necessarily," Percy reassured. "It was just a connection I made. All the food and drink and stuff at camp have just a tiny bit of nectar and ambrosia and nectar in it, right?"

Will snapped his fingers, brow furrowed as he finished the thought, "And. . . because of Octavian's mortal biology, when he drank during lunch before, the nectar caused an overload to his immune system?"

Percy nodded, "Kinda like blood sugar: it gets too high, you get a sugar low, right? Instead of helping him, it hurt him."

"Like an autoimmune disease," Will muttered. He looked up at Percy, a grateful smile taking over his expression. "Percy, that's brilliant. Thank you for telling me. Now I just have to make sure all of the nectar is flushed out of his system. But I have some things I gotta take care of first. Could you sit with him until I get back, make sure he doesn't get worse?"

"Oh. . . I'm supposed to be training some campers in the arena, actually. I'm kinda late," Percy admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. "But I'll find someone to sit with him. Don't worry."

"Here," Will handed him a spare pager. "When you find someone, page me, okay? I need to know that Octavian is safe. He could crash at any moment, even with the improvement he's been showing."

Percy took it, clipping it to his belt, and took off towards the arena.

XXX

"You were right, somehow he looks he even paler than before."

A voice- loud and painful- pushed through his daze. He grimaced, unable to refrain from a weak flinch when a hand briefly brushed against his arm.

"I resent that comment, Grace."

"He's not _that_ pale, Nico."

"Thanks, that helps."

The voices were getting sharper as he began to surface into consciousness. He let his eyes flutter open reluctantly, bright lights piercing through his skull like a drill.

"Guys, shh, he's waking up!"

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and raising heavy arms to block out the dazzling light dominating the room with an overwhelming potency.

"Hazel, can you switch the light off?"

After some torturous moments, he heard a click, and was finally plunged back into back delightful darkness. He sighed in relief, letting his arms fall and relishing the dark for a bit before opening his eyes once more.

The sight of all six of the remaining Seven huddled sporadically around his bed greeted him.

He couldn't suppress a yelp and the consequential scramble to push himself as far away from them as possible. The headboard and IV line, like every other time, became his border, and he felt something terrifying (familiar) stir in his chest.

Had they come to kill him? Will had said they'd forgiven him!

He scanned the room frantically, looking for a way out as panic began to build in his chest and threatened to crush his lungs, making him work for every breath.

He spotted an indifferent Nico di Angelo leaning against the wall furthest from him, arms crossed over his chest, seconds before he was standing in front of him, cupping his face and forcing them to lock eyes.

"Octavian, look at me," Nico demanded, tugging gently when Octavian's desperate gaze traveled to the startled demigods beside them. "Don't look at them; look at me."

Octavian tore his gaze from the piercing eyes of Jason Grace, shakily gripping Nico's arms. It hurt, but Nico had other things to worry about at the moment.

"Octavian, they will not hurt you, I promise. They are here to make peace with you."

The augur ran his tongue over his lip as he struggled to comprehend Nico's words, tasting salt from the tears he hadn't even realized had begun streaming down his cheeks.

"Octavian." The firmness in his tone compelled his to lock eyes with Nico. "Repeat after me," Nico said, eyes determined and kind. "They will not hurt me."

Octavian's throat closed up, and he swallowed thickly, forcing the words out in a breathless gasp, "They. . . they will n-not h-hurt- hurt m-me."

"Good," Nico praised softly, lips hinting at a smile. "Again: they will not hurt me."

"Th- they will not. . ." he jolted when a hand touched his shoulder tentatively, the gentle face of Hazel Levesque looking back a him with warm, encouraging eyes.

He swallowed again, gaze flicking uncertainly between Hazel and Nico, "They will n-not h-hurt me."

He let out a gasp of an exhale, recalled suddenly all the times he had been ridiculed at camp, ridiculed and patronized, questioned in his ability to properly fill the role of augur, much less of praetor and respected leader.

Hazel had never been-

Never could he remember a time she had mocked, or laughed at the petty jokes of ghosts and cohorts alike. And if compassionate, merciful Hazel could have befriended the demigods she had, then- maybe. . .

He took a shaky breath, swallowing again, "Th-they will not hurt me." His breath was slowing, the constriction in his chest slowly letting up as he allowed himself to believe this truth that was being gifted to him.

He let his hands fall away, bringing his knees up under his chin and resting his head there, wrapping his arms around himself. Feeling comfortably smaller, he was able to take another breath, hot against the covered skin of his knees, "They will not hurt me, they will not hurt me, they will not hurt me." He sat back against the headboard, repeating it- over and over- until he could hold it comfortably in his hands.

The vague pain in his back made him wince a little as he settled down (crossed-legged now), so he wiped at his face in an attempt to hide it before burying his hands in his lap.

Nico nodded at Percy, who nodded back in thanks.

Octavian refused to meet Hazel's eyes as she approached him, adamantly focusing on the complex lines of the professionally wrapped bandages on his wrists, shaky fingers slowly tracing the patterns.

"Octavian?" Hazel began quietly, venturing to touch his shoulder gently. He winced but didn't protest, so she kept it there, keeping her voice soft. "Are you feeling any better?"

Octavian hesitated before nodding vaguely.

Hazel was smiling softly when he peeked up, her eyes overflowing with a kind of understanding sympathy, the kind you didn't mind receiving. The kind that was so real and so _gratifying_ that you just wanted to keep it locked in your heart forever.

"Good," Jason said, and Octavian smiled a little, allowing himself to believe the brushing genuinity in his voice.

"Is it okay if I. . .?" Hazel inched closer, spreading her arms a little.

Octavian looked fully up at her now, tired and shaking still. "Please," he pleaded, shoving aside the voice in the back of his head chiding him for the desperation clearly laced in his tone.

Hazel hugged him gently, carefully, like he would break, and he startled a little, taking several moments to gain his bearings before he could return the embrace.

Because he was still getting used to this new concept of amiable touches, and had to actively, constantly push back the wary adrenaline and panic that instantly stabbed at his heart and mind.

And this. . . this kindness, this _mercy_?

It. . . it really felt quite. . . _nice_.

Never did he think he would have _friends_ , much less friends who would help him carry the broken pieces of his soul.

His heart clenched, a lump forming in his throat as he realized that- _finally-_ he was safe, that he had been forgiven, that he had people who would protect him against Gaea and her army, should they ever somehow find their way back the mortal world.

Hazel tightened her embrace when Octavian hiccuped, almost cradling him as hot tears began streaming down his cheeks once more. He gripped the back of her shirt, hiding his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Hazel hushed him, beckoning Frank over, who reluctantly joined them, placing a comforting hand on the small of Octavian's back.

"We're here, Octavian," Frank assured, his tone as awkward as it was genuine. "I am so sorry I never helped you when the other legionnaires would hound you. I should have gotten them to back off, but I never did, and I'm so sorry for that."

Someone hugged his other side, and Piper's soft voice was suddenly in his ear- void of any charm-speak, "The Titan War, Leo, the tension between the Camps, none of it was your fault, Octavian. So. . . we forgive you for anything you blame yourself for, I promise."

The slowly-growing heap of limbs moved carefully to the carpeted floor, and a warmth encompassed his backside, arms circling his waist.

Percy didn't say anything, but Octavian knew it was him from the vague, yet distinct smell of the ocean that had begun to waft from behind him, and his mere presence made Octavian sob harder, realizing that Percy was giving him the respect and recognition of substance and reality that he had refused him before.

Another body slid in, right beside Percy, and this time it was Annabeth, her normally analytical and logical voice now quivering with unshed tears, "At least _you_ survived."

It wasn't much, but Octavian could _feel_ the emotion rolling off of her, and one of the arms around him disappeared to tug Annabeth closer to her boyfriend.

Surprisingly, Nico joined as well, but- not so surprisingly- with nothing to say either.

Jason joined after some time, and he felt Hazel press a sisterly kiss to his temple as he spoke, his voice matching that of Annabeth's, "I shouldn't have blamed you for Leo's death. As much as it _was_ you who set up the battle between the Camps, it was Gaea who created the war in the first place. If it hadn't been you, it would have been any of the other exiled campers who had joined her army; it would have happened anyway. So. . . I'm sorry I blamed you, and that I never defended you, either."

Amidst the sobs still tumbling freely from his lips, he took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of the moment to just be.

A watery smile tugged at his lips, and he relaxed into Hazel's arms, eyes drooping with exhaustion and relief.

Maybe he could be okay.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually ended up finishing this up by writing the second part in a not-so-great state of mind at two in the morning. I'm fine now, and hey, at least I finally, finally finished this chapter.
> 
> Also, three things to mention: 1)there is a panic attack in the second part of this chapter (or, rather, the second part IS a panic attack); 2)it's out of order, because I wanted it end a different way (so the first part of this is, chronologically, supposed to be after the other two parts of this chapter. other than that, it's in order); 3) there's a lot of crying in this chapter (like, a lot), so just a warning there, in case you needed to skip it, or enjoy it, whatever suits you.
> 
> In short, it's a very bittersweet epilogue, and then after this I have some bonus material that didn't make it into the original. Hopefully I can get that up soon without much fuss on my part.

"Now pull back, slowly," Kayla said, resting a hand on Octavian's shoulder. She smiled to herself when he didn't flinch away.

The augur did as instructed, pulling until he could very well hook his thumb around the back of his ear.

"Remember," Kayla said, "you're left-eye dominant."

He nodded once, refocusing on the target sitting twenty yards away. His right hand, gripping the bow's body, was going white, so he loosened his grip, letting it sit snugly in his hand.

He took a deep breath to focus his aim: in through the nose and out through mouth, just as Kayla had instructed.

"Don't expect a bullseye on your first session, Octavian," Kayla reminded him gently.

He gave a small nod in response, and after another moment to focus, he fired.

With a satisfying _thunk,_ the arrow sunk into the red.

Kayla grinned at him, "Well done, Octavian. It seems you have more of Apollo's blood in you than you thought. Your archer's potential is clear to see."

He looked at the ground, a light blush dusting his cheeks and a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you," he replied softly, obliging to her offered high-five.

Bells tolled in the distance, a rush of demigods following close behind.

"That's lunch," Kayla announced, beginning to make her way to the mess hall. She stopped when Octavian didn't follow, turning back to face him, "You coming?"

He grimaced, everything in him radiating uncertainty, "Um, I don't. . . I don't think I should?" He offered, gesturing a shaky hand at the mess hall, where the crowd of demigods was quickly growing.

Kayla strode back over to him, gently taking his hands and catching his gaze, "Octavian, you will be fine. We've forgiven you. It shouldn't be about fault, anyway. It should be about watching backs and building trust. And that might take a while, sure, but it that's what it takes, then that's what it takes."

He bit his lip, averting his eyes. Then he felt his resolve steel for a wonderful moment, and the beginnings of a genuine smile graced his lips.

Kayla smiled back, kind and brilliant, and Octavian couldn't help but match it with one of his own.

"C'mon," Kayla said, tugging him gently towards the mess hall, "before everyone misses your smile. You look so much better when you're happy."

Octavian could feel a light blush blooming on his face again, but let her lead him to the gathering of campers.

They walked across the green, hand in hand- never looking back.

XXX

When Will asks him about it later, he isn't sure what to tell him.

He doesn't know what led him to be sitting in the middle of the canoe lake, gripping the sides of the canoe he found himself in, a blank look on his face.

He remembers the thundering rhythm of his heart. He remembers the feeling of nothingness. He remembers panic pouring through him, stroking him in waves as if he were a well-trained cat. He remembers the shouting, the splashing, the concerned faces, the questions.

He doesn't remember what he's frightened of-

Was it Gaea?

_Of course, you fool, what else would it be?_

He shakes his head fiercely, tempted to scream aloud at the voice in head, the one that had been screaming at _him_ for so long.

But he's too tired.

"Octavian!"

He can't feel his diaphragm.

"Octavian, what are you doing?!"

Or his lungs, either. He thinks.

"Octavian!"

He really can't tell, can't move enough to figure it out.

"Who let him out there?"

He feels weightless as Jupiter and heavy as Earth at the same time.

"Octavian!"

His mind is swirling with nothing and everything, he doesn't know what he's allowed to think-

Is this a panic attack?

He considers it-

 _Just to get attention, sure. How else would you get anyone to imply that you still exist?_ Should _you exist?_

He shook his head fiercely again, feeling something slide down his cheeks, and he reaches up a shaky hand to touch it.

His chest is constricted, he still can't feel his lungs.

It's wet. It might be.

He doesn't know, he really can't tell.

His eyes, unseeing, flick to the side when a splash overwhelms his senses.

An angry shout, further away now.

Was someone arguing?

Does it matter?

"Percy!"

Octavian's ear twitches, just a little, his knuckles get a little less white.

He knows that voice. He knows that name.

But he hears another splash, hears a different voice, sees a face in the distance coming slowly, cautiously towards him. They want to rescue him?

To take him away from this opportunity-

_NO!_

He lets himself go limp, falling over the side of the canoe and into the darkness of the water.

It's nothing here, he thinks, it's ruthless, numb.

It's where he should be, what should be put upon him.

_Only this, only this._

He closes his eyes, a breath of a smile twisting his blue lips as he feels his lungs again, burning, raging, screaming.

_Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!_

_NO!_

_He won't- he can't- he won't-_

There are arms around him, and air rams against his ribs, demanding to be let in.

_Breathe!_

"Octavian."

There's a whisper in his ear, gentle yet demanding.

He gasps a little, choking, balling up a fist in defiance.

_NO!_

"Octavian, it just Percy. I don't even know if you can hear me." Something is rushing in his ears. Blood? His heart? No. Water. "Look, I know it's difficult right now, but you're going to be okay, I promise. I know it seems impossible right now, but it's not. I swear it's not."

Octavian lets his head fall limp against Percy's shoulder, trying to let whatever water was left in him finish the job, but it was as if his lungs were being dried up, the water pulled right out of them, and now the only water left is spilling down his cheeks and out from his nose in torrents.

There was something hard and sifty under his knees now, and someone was talking.

Multiple someones.

He felt arms, different arms, wrap around him, tugging him to be held close to something rumbling intermittently.

"Oh, thank the gods you're okay!"

Will. Will?

"Yes, yes, it's Will," the rumbling thing said, and the arms around him gripped tighter, his head guided to press softly against a shoulder.

He hiccuped, something he couldn't identify clawing at his heart, and he sagged in the hold, feeling heavy all over again.

He hears another angry shout, and then realizes with a jolt that he's _breathing_.

He can't actually breathe, though, still can't feel his lungs, though some obscure part of his mind informs him that they are _burning_.

He hiccups again, gasping.

"N-no, no, I-I'm sorry-" he mutters, and now the salt searing his cheeks hits him, and he has to gasp again- he still can't catch a breath.

"Shh," Will soothes gently, running a careful hand through Octavian's hair. "Just focus on breathing, okay?"

"I- I don't kn-know what I was th-thinking," he sputters, and now he's just rambling, useless as ever. "I was s-so scared, I d-didn't-"

"Hey, shh, it's okay. C'mon, just breathe, you can do it, Octavian."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. He can't stop himself he's screwed up so many times what's another on the list of sins and mistakes and terrible choices, and he's such a terrible person, he should go back in the water, where he can be treated the way he deserves to be treated-

"Hey, look at me," and now Will is guiding Octavian's gaze to his, nothing but determination and righteous anger shining there.

Will is angry at him- of course he is, why not be? Why not-

"I'm sorry," Octavian mumbles again, trying in vain to sound earnest but he's just so tired-

"You _never_ have to apologize for having a panic attack. It's something our body puts us through when it doesn't know how to deal with something, and sometimes we have no control over it. It is never your fault, the way your body deals with something."

Octavian sobs, lets out a desperate whine.

He can't handle this- this fondness, this _love._

 _No, he just_ can't.

But he nods anyway, because what Will says makes sense, logically. He _doesn't_ have control sometimes, and he _hates_ that.

"Okay, I just need you to take some deep breaths, okay? In your own time, Octavian."

He chokes, coughing when his lungs refuse to work.

He tries to focus on Will's hand running through his hair, the feel of the earth beneath him, the sight of Percy's concerned face peering at him as he crouches beside Will.

Nico was there, too, cross-legged on the ground, a water bottle in hand.

Was that for him?

He pressed a hand to Will's chest, feeling the strong flutter of his heart, and took a breath, again and again, until he could feel his hands again, feel the steady flow of air through his body, feel the way the soft soil seeped into his jeans.

"Nico, water," Will said softly, and Nico scooted close enough to hold the bottle up to Octavian, who was laying against Will's chest now, spent.

He coughed, letting a small, grateful smile grace his lips as takes the bottle.

"What happened?" he hears Percy ask, quiet.

"He had a panic attack. I think he was scared that Mother Nature and her evil bourgeois of undead idiocy cult were coming after him. Must've been startled by something in the cabin."

"I'm okay," Octavian muttered, taking a slow sip from the bottle, though he's still trusting all of his weight against Will.

"I'm sure you are," Percy replied with no small amount of sarcasm, though it wasn't unkind.

"He will be," Will assured, echoing Percy promise from before. He traced a thumb along Octavian's sharp cheekbones, wiping the last of the tears away.

Octavian took another sip of water, feeling his eyelids drooping as the bottle was slipped from his hands, and he drifted into an empty headspace.

He was tired, but he would be okay.

XXX

It was four in the morning, and Octavian had yet to drift off.

It wasn't even that he was in the Apollo cabin- around new surroundings and new people, although that _was_ a part of it.

He'd always been a bit of an insomniac, dealing on his own by trudging alone to the temple at ridiculous hours and absentmindedly tearing through endless stuffed animals with burning eyes and exhausted steps.

He didn't mind it much, then. He'd been able to see it as a blessing, really: it gave him some respite from the other legionaires as well as an opportunity to cry in private, whenever the need arose (which was often).

Now, with his recovery hindering his mobility and thus severely limiting his distractions, he was forced to understand it as a curse.

Now he was lying on his side under his (multiple) blankets, with nothing to avert his spiraling thoughts save for the other campers' snoring.

He let out a soft snort, amused at the realization that snoring and insomnia were his biggest problems now. Never would he have thought himself fortunate enough as to so quickly (or ever) leave behind everything surrounding Gaea and the Second Giant War. At the moment, there was nothing he could really do against it. Especially now that the attack had actually been stopped.

"Octavian?" Will's voice floated softly from across the room, startling him a little, small as the noise was. What was Will doing up at this hour?

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

". . . can't sleep. Why are you awake?"

He couldn't see much in the dark, but he could hear the small smile in the healer's voice, "I'm just worried about you and Nico."

Octavian's heart clenched, and he shoved down the sob building his throat.

"Octavian?"

He swallowed thickly, "I- I'm fine."

"Do you need anything?"

He _really_ didn't deserve these people.

"Um," Octavian hesitated, gripping one the blankets. "It. . . it's going to sound ridiculous."

Will chuckled, "More ridiculous than being up at this _ungodly_ hour?"

Octavian couldn't help a laugh-groan at the pun, burying his face in his pillow. He sobered up quickly, however, picking at loose threads, "I . . . I just need a, uh. . . a distraction."

"Okay," Will replied easily, humming for a few moments in thought.

He grinned, then, pushing his own blankets back and standing up quickly.

He strode over to Octavian, offering a hand up.

The augur took it, frowning, "Where are we going?"

Will just smiled at him, a gleam in his eye, "You'll see."

Octavian shook his head, smiling at little. He wavered as stood, however, and his heart sped up for a moment. He stumbled to grip the bed frame, groaning as pain washed over him.

Without a word, Will looped an arm under Octavian's shoulders, easing him up and helping him out of the cabin.

"So," Will began, as if he didn't have another person attached to him, "for reasons that Chiron will probably regret agreeing to later, I have full access to the stables."

Octavian pursed his lips, thinking, "The pegasi, right?"

"Right," Will confirmed. "And- Camp Jupiter-unicorns?"

At Octavian's nod, Will sighed in longing, "Man, what I wouldn't give to ride one of those."

Octavian merely chuckled in response as they approached the stables, the keys jingling as Will dug them out of his pocket.

He thought that the smell would be the first thing to hit him (it was a stable, it made sense).

But it was the overwhelming saturation of the spirits of the horses. It nearly took his breath away, and he could do little but marvel at the beauty of it all.

"I know, right?" Will chuckled. "They're all tamed, but the spirit and ichor of the original Pegasus still runs through them. They have as much as divinity in them as the dryads. It's kind of amazing, really."

"Yeah," Octavian breathed, coughing slightly as his breath came back to him. His skin was tingling, his heart speeding up again. "Wow."

"And we aren't even nymphs," Will pointed out, eyes wide in curious amazement. "Imagine how _they_ feel, actually being a part of nature that can exert this kind of vibe."

"On the bright side," Will continued, helping Octavian over to the nearest pegasus. "We can at least experience a little bit of it."

The creature was a brilliant mix of a dark brown coat and pure white ears. It's wings, tucked meekly against its sides, were a gorgeous chocolate brown, flecks of white feathers sprinkled here and there.

And just like that, Octavian's breath was stolen again.

"This is Celeste," Will said. "She's only been here a couple years, a new pegasus compared to the rest of them, but she's just as powerful and just as clever."

Octavian breathed out an amazed laugh, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

"Go on, pet her," Will encouraged.

His mouth went dry, and he gripped Will's arm, still staring into the creature's intelligent eyes. "No, I can't. There's so much I've done wrong- what if she feels all that?"

"You mean all the regret and guilt and shame you feel for those very things?" Will shot back. His expression softened, kind and encouraging, "Yes, she'll feel all that."

Octavian swallowed thickly, feeling a familiar heat behind his eyes as tears brimmed there, threatening to spill over. He squeezed his eyes shut, slowly extending a hand out to her.

He might not get a reaction at all, she might hate just the sight of him, might reject him, and then- then he wouldn't know _what_ to do, if even this beautiful creature, who didn't know everything he'd done, couldn't forgive him, couldn't-

The soft hair of the muzzle brushed against his palm, and he had to force himself to not jerk back.

But he didn't want to taint her-

But there she was again, nuzzling him again, this time with more enthusiasm.

Maybe even. . .fondness.

He let out a soft sob, tears tracking down his cheeks as he peered up at Celeste shyly.

She nuzzled him again, closing her eyes, and he stroked her muzzle with both hands, smiling gently.

"Hello."


	10. Bonus Material (Song-Prompt. . . Kind of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd never done a song-fic and/or prompt, but most of this just popped into my head in the middle of my astronomy class, and I just couldn't resist. Especially because it mixed two things that I greatly appreciate: song-prompts/songs itself, and different perspectives of the same scene.
> 
> And I really, really, wanted to put it in here, at some point. But, because it of the context and my OCD with constancy in my story lines, I wanted it to also be separate, somehow.
> 
> So, here we are.
> 
> It's set in Reyna's perspective, right after Octavian passes out during the campfire scene in ch. 7, I believe.
> 
> Also, just to clarify, this is the last chapter of the entire story, thus its title of "Bonus Material". Thank you all for coming along for the ride. It's been truly wonderful.

_Welcome to the panic room._

"Octavian?" she called, her voice hoarse with rare terror as she shook him desperately.

_Where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you._

"Octavian!"

His lips were pure white, his body still warm, though she knew soon it would grow cold- cold as stone, cold as Roman marble.

_You'll know I wasn't joking when you them, too._

"Octavian," she whispered, tracing a thumb along his sunken cheekbones, where the fire of fever lingered still, clinging haphazardly to the fuel of life.

"You can't die, Octavian. You may not believe it, but there are people who care about you. I care about you."

_See them, too._

"Reyna," Will's voice, though gentle and firm, shook, and she snapped back to her senses, managing to tear her eyes away from ~~it~~ him. Octavian. Not Octavian's body. He would live, she was sure of it.

Still, she made certain to lock eyes with both Will and Nico di Angelo, gaze fiercely desperate, pleading even as shadow of command sat somewhere near the bottom, prominent as ever.

"Save him. Please."

Will smiled kindly, squeezing her shoulder in assurance while Nico made a steady beeline for Octavian, bag in hand.

"We will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, did I mention that I absolutely adore the idea that Nico learns a bunch of medical stuff because he hangs out with Will so much, with the unspoken hope that helping people could help him counter the sadness and anger he feels being a kid of the god of the Underworld. Y'know, death and all that fun stuff.
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Also, the song is Panic Room by Billie Eilish. I'd recommend a cautious listen, if you'd like. She's got some good stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't a lot of Octavian sympathizers out there, and I've been that person at the movie theatre who cries when the villain dies (or even when they're treated badly, honestly), because I've never believed in "an eye for an eye". I think that everyone deserves to be treated with kindness, especially those who don't treat others as such.
> 
> And this fic is my attempt at creating what I feel Uncle Rick should've at least begun to create- character development and background. I feel that way with a lot of characters (Chiron, Octavian, and Dionysus, among many others), and I hope that others try to create more for them as well. Octavian in particular seemed a challenge, though, and I love challenges, so I gave it a shot.
> 
> Admittedly, I like what I churned out.
> 
> And yes, I agree that Uncle Rick has done excellently with other characters' development, and can't exactly cram all of the emotional condominium of every character into his amazing books.
> 
> That's what fanfiction is for XD
> 
> Anyway: again, I implore you to keep an open mind as I go forward with this. I simply want to present my case.
> 
> Pay close attention.


End file.
